Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a cheerful visitor, felt like a spotlight on Elias's shame. There, where his beat-up Honda Civic usually sat, was only empty asphalt. He'd been so sure he’d parked within the lines. A wave of heat washed over him, a burning sensation in his chest. Across the street, the gleaming red convertible of his neighbor, Mr. Henderson, basked in the sunlight, its chrome practically winking. He balled his fists, the tendons in his forearms straining. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, picturing the tow truck driver and the smug look he probably wore.